My name is Jody Galadriel Friend. I’m a writer, musician, model, actress, producer, nerd, witch and 5-foot, 10-inch neurodivergent southern-bred goth. An absolute dreamboat babe.
I’m the frontwoman of the queer-Appalachian-doom-punk band Public Universal Friend and my debut book “Transangelicism: memoir of a transgender ex-vangelical” came out last year.
I wrote my Culture Journal as I got ready to play my last Indianapolis show for a while. I now live in Portland, Ore.
Day One
5:55 p.m. At band practice in Indy. Sweat drips onto the garage floor, narrowly missing the electronic components strung up to a singular extension cord.
The puzzle-piece foam gym mats really do make a difference in absorbing extra noise, and with these new songs, we need it. Hotter than what? You name it.
My god, I’m so proud of these kids. We’ve come such a long way. It’s gonna be great to start the new version of the band in Portland and get to have a Midwest crew for shows out here.
Four years of shows and look at us now. What a dream. Now that I’m here, now that all the details are worked out — flights went well, posters hung up, travel plans taken care of, setlist created, gear procured, coordinated with the Pacers to make sure the last game of the NBA Finals would be exact time as our HI-FI set and what else? — I just gotta remember the words.
Day Two
8:18 p.m. My friend Anna was introducing me to “BoJack Horseman” and I was just starting to peak on mushroom gummies when she turned her phone around to show me Trump just bombed Iran.
I’m so tired.
How the hell am I supposed to play a show tomorrow? What a time to go off Lexapro.
The first night of our last tour was the day after Hillary Clinton lost the election in 2016. Then Leonard Cohen died.
Earlier today we went to the Fountain Square Goodwill, the only one that matters. Also had the best Yats of my life. Half and half of B&B and whatever that jalapeño chicken one was, in my yoga pants, with extra bread and a Dr. Pepper, hell yeah. Sponsor me, Yats.
Day Three
9:22 p.m. Showtime.
Some of the things we say behind stage at the HI-FI:
“Ah wow, Karen Read got acquitted.”
“Who’s Karen Read?”
“The gal who was accused of killing her boyfriend. Totally framed. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of her.”
“Oh no yeah, I remember hearing about that. Crazy. So do you think I should wear the crop top over the pushup bra or no?”
“Or no.”
“What?”
Three sweaty Chicagoans exit sidestage as the lights dim, with a cheering crowd in their wake. After taking a beat, exchanging hugs and high-fives, they go back through the curtain, for what a moment I thought might have been for an encore.
“Never heard of an opener doing an encore,” I thought, but it’s Friend of a Friend, they can do whatever they want. Turns out they were just tearing down.
We sold 69 tickets: the perfect number. Not as many as I thought we might, but hey, that’s a full house. That’s a dedicated few, a captive audience. That’s a show.
I can’t believe I forgot my dang Soffe shorts. Isn’t that the whole reason we went Sporty Spice for this one? I was gonna roll ’em twice and everything.
I just finished eating a Motörhead without olives at Kuma’s Corner ’cause f*** olives, man. La Rev was closed. Why is La Rev always closed? Harlan gave me a hell of a discount and you know what? The change is yours, girl.
Also, how did this get marketed as a farewell show? How did I not catch that before it was printed on the big poster? It’s our last Indy show for a while, sure, but not forever.
Gotta remember to say something.
Gotta remember to talk about why I moved to Portland, my memoir, the woodblock printed tote bags I packed on my carry-on and actionable steps for allies wanting to support trans people in the very community I vacated six months ago.
They called me a “refugee from Indiana” when I moved.
How do you do this?
11:37 p.m. Important things people said to me tonight:
“Oh no, you did great, everybody forgets the words to their own songs, it’s no big deal. I could just tell even since Tonic Ball that your voice has gotten so much more confident. Or like, you’ve gotten more confident. You know what I mean. I can tell.”
“Babe, listen to me. The whole time you were playing I was drafting an email about you to my label. Let’s talk soon. This week, for real, OK?”
“Oh my god will you please write on my vinyl what you said to me when I screamed ‘I love you’ during your set?’”
I then proceed to write a quote I stole from Dolly Parton: “I thought I told you to stay in the trunk.”
Day Four
4:44 p.m. At Holiday World & Splashin’ Safari with the same six Garden Table coworkers as last year, but it’s 20 degrees hotter. Last year was the first time I wore a bikini in public, and this year I’m wearing the same bottoms. I bought them at the gift shop — I was ill-prepared. I didn’t know “Splashin’ Safari” was a waterpark, did you?
No roller coasters this time. My friend Jess was like, “Hell no, I hate roller coasters,” and you know what? Yeah. Hell no, dude. I don’t need that. It’s water slides all day.
The Mammoth? Hell yeah. Wildebeest? Twice, baby. The long purple one? I’d go it alone.
There are at least two other trans women here. Indiana has just kinda gotten scarier for trans people, but at Holiday World? Man, I do not give a f***. I’m gonna enjoy myself if it kills me.
Day Five
11:11 p.m. Just got off the phone with my love. I swear, even when we’re both busy with our art for days at a time, I feel a million times better after talking to her, even for a little while. I am the luckiest girl in the world. Gurr in the wurr. How much am I allowed to say about her? How much time do we have?
Day Six
2:33 p.m. Over the last four days:
- I’ve met for coffee with Eden
- Garden Table with Peach
- Coat Check with Tori
- Petra with Noah
- Bova matcha with Anna
- Game Changer with Emma and Paige
- Therapy session in the Rabble parking lot while Anna got her nails done by Death Claws
- Quality Tacoma time with Austin
- Phone call with Claire
- Found Savanna not at Broad Ripple Vintage but instead Curated
- FaceTime with the babe
- Hell yeah
Day Seven
9:44 a.m. Lake Monroe, baby. Someone please tell me whose idea it was to get up at 5:45 a.m. to get here by 8 so we could spend eight hours on a lake right before catching a flight outta here at 8:30 tonight.
It’ll be 2:30 a.m. ET by the time I land.
“But I’m just trying to be present,” I said.
Out of the 19 — no wait — 20 people on this double-decker pontoon boat, how many gays have we got here? At least two, maybe three. Is that a realistic sample size for the population? Kelsey just told me I may have just been her sister’s bisexual awakening.
“I’m like, basically engaged,” I said.
2:15 p.m. I’m high again. My friend Adam and I are on the second floor of the pontoon talking about love and the nature of vulnerability. About how it has changed my life fundamentally, about how scary peace actually is, about what it’s like to be loved by someone for who you actually are, not just what you have historically attributed your worth to in order to feel that you have deserved the love you are now freely given. Nah big.
We’re next to the slide attached to the boat. You have to pour water on before you go down or it will eat you alive. Ow-ee. Just like The Mammoth at Splashin’ Safari, except you aren’t stuck with four people you don’t know on a tube for six, knocking heads together.
It’s just you in that same bikini bottom, splashing into a body of water guaranteed to give you a UTI if you pee in it.
11:57 p.m. Writing my to do list, somewhere over Utah probably:
- Look for apartments or better yet a house. Like, soon
- Finish recording vocals
- Clean ya room, what do I have that I can sell?
- Trader Joe’s (popsicles, grapefruit, raspberries for sure)
- Laundry
- Prep care package for the babe
- See if car starts
- Trim bangs
- Shower
- Literally eat something
- Make a post with the “Crush” video
- Journal about feelings
- Finish Mirror Indy Culture Journal
My Culture Journal is a series that shares a week in the cultural lives of Indy residents. If you are interested in submitting a journal, email arts and culture editor Jennifer Delgadillo at jennifer.delgadillo@mirrorindy.org and tell us about yourself.
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